It would have taken a psychologist of countless years' standing to have fully understood the mental state of Gareth Hicks during this period. He was a complex individual at the best of times, constantly torn between his gay and straight personas, but separation from Will Brandt appeared only to have increased the tension that existed within him. Satisfied the one moment (particularly with his greatly improved performance on the football pitch), frustrated and angry the next, the young man hovered dangerously between his own personal heaven and hell, with only his sport to take the edge off the swirl of emotions that consumed him. How long he could continue in such a manner, however, remained to be seen. Perhaps, given time, the grief that he felt concerning his loss of Will would ebb, then again, maybe it would simply grow even more intense, until it reached a point where it threatened to genuinely destroy him. Only the coming days and weeks, it seemed, would eventually tell.
In the meantime, the young man awaited the revelation of his affair with the Dutchman, which he felt sure would hit the front pages any day. Not that he had anyone else to blame but himself – Todd Rankin, after all, had warned him of the consequence of his foolishness – but it was all too naturally human to search for some scapegoat for his misdemeanours. Will, for tempting him, his skipper, for not being persistent enough, the fans, for their flagrant homophobia. Anyone, in fact, save himself – though he knew, deep down in that frightened soul of his, that his fury with others was little more than a pointless diversion.
Editions came and went, and Gareth's emotions turned once again to devastation, as he realised that Will had not betrayed him, after all and that he had lost the one most precious soul in life that he would probably ever encounter. Yet just as he was burgeoning on despair, something suddenly along came out of the blue to ease his troubles (if albeit temporarily). And that something was a `phone-call from Keith Farmer, the coach of the England Under-23 squad.
To say that the young fellow was surprised to receive a call-up for a forthcoming international friendly was something of an understatement – even for a man of such precocious talent as himself – and for a short while he marvelled at the prospect. After all, this was an acknowledgement that he was going somewhere, making something of his life, and with hard work and determination he realised that this might be but the first step to further greatness. Today, the Under 23's, tomorrow ... well, who could tell? But there was every hope that he might be following in the steps of Moore and Keegan and Beckham and all those other former greats who had donned their country's colours. That, at least, was Gareth's dream – and one that he could not help but kick around in his mind as the day of the said game drew ever closer.
Then it appeared to dawn on him as to who the game was going to be against and as to where it was being played. In all his initial excitement, the significance that it would be against Holland and played in Amsterdam was completely lost on him, but having now realised the coincidence (Will, after all, being Dutch), it was difficult for him to regain his initial enthusiasm. Instead, he actually began to ponder the possibility of encouraging City to prevent his release for the fixture (which, given the proximity of the team's fifth round Cup tie, was not quite as unrealistic as it sounded). It was, however, a notion quickly dismissed by City's captain when Gareth finally confessed his sentiments after training one morning. Pleased that his star striker had finally seen sense over his dalliance with Will, Todd was determined to prevent the lad's past from tarnishing his future. Gareth had got to play that game for the Under-23's, whether it was played in Amsterdam or Timbuktu – it was as simple as that!
`You know who you need to see ...?' helpfully suggested Todd, as they showered together side-by-side – their toned, muscular bodies brimming with the glories of male youthfulness and virility.
The younger lad shook his head, noting that Todd's half-erect eight inches looked manfully tempting and wondering whether it was to himself that he was referring.
`The physio ...' Todd replied, with a glint in his eye.
Brian?!' Gareth balked – aware that the fellow in question was sixty if a day and one of the most physically repulsive individuals he'd ever encountered. No way!'
The skipper laughed, lathering his crotch with soap as he did so. `No, not Brian! The new physio – Carl.'
Gareth seemed to recall there being mention of a new chap called Carl, now that Todd had mentioned it and he nodded his head in apparent approval. `What's he like?' he queried.
The older guy smiled, soaping his bottle-blond hair. `Oh, he's okay ...' he drooled – in a manner that suggested serious understatement.
`Anyway, why on earth should I want to go and see the physio? I'm not injured!'
`Believe me, Gaz – Carl's one physio you'll wanna see. He'll soon get you over that boyfriend of yours!'
Gareth Hicks was both intrigued and excited and could not help but express his desire to meet the fellow as soon as possible – especially when Todd explained how good Carl was at rubbing stiff and enflamed muscles,' (as he described them). He certainly relieved me when I was hot and bothered about things the other day ...'
The skipper's suggestiveness was certainly not lost on the youngster, whose cock was now raging with a violent flow of blood – much to the lad's embarrassment. Fucking hell,' he exclaimed – glancing round to check that they were now the only ones in the changing rooms, before thrusting out his hand to stroke the engorged member – it looks as if you're in even more need of the new physio's attention than I thought ...'
Actually, Todd Rankin wasn't too far short of the mark with such a statement – a week or more without Will's attentions had left Gareth feeling decidedly horny and having clearly now been reawakened to the joys of human carnality, he found himself feeling (quite bluntly) as frisky as fuck! No doubt about it, all this talk about gorgeous new physio at the club was having a decidedly lecherous effect, and the lad felt almost ready to shoot his pent-up load when the captain stepped out of the shower and suggested that the two of them should see if Carl was around.
Barely a few seconds later and the striker was out of the shower as well – drying his clean, smooth skin and slipping into a fresh pair of white jocks (not the easiest of tasks given that his cock was fuller than usual). There was no denying the haste to his actions, which was only underlined when he almost forgot his hold-all upon leaving the room – after all, he wanted to meet this new physio and his shaft was straining beneath his trackers to prove the point. He only hoped that was not going to be disappointed – although given Todd's taste for handsome, spunky young studs, that was very unlikely to be the case.
They found the fellow in question tidying up in one of the physio rooms – having just treated one of City's academy boys for a suspected groin injury (no doubt Carl's favourite!) – and almost at once Gareth realised that he was in for a rather enjoyable time ahead. For one thing, the guy was certainly a marked improvement on old Brian, with a sleek but clearly muscular frame and dark, smooth features that had a somewhat Mediterranean nature to them. He was a year or two older than the striker perhaps, and his clean, white smile instantly forced Gareth's crotch into overdrive. Already over-stimulated, his cock strained even further, so that a notable bulge started to emerge in his trackers – which he desperately tried to conceal by holding his bag in front of him. Not that the physio was at all fooled. He'd clearly seen more than enough young soccer stars even in his short life to realise that most of them were constantly horny as fuck and as such needed firm, manful handling to help them concentrate on their real purpose at the club, namely their sport. And that, of course, was where he came in – so to speak ...
Hi, Carl,' Todd began in knowing fashion, I wonder if you would be so kind as to have a look at this fine fellow ...?' (referring, of course, to Gareth – but in a manner that almost suggested that the physio didn't recognise the guy).
Carl smiled once again (God, how Gareth loved that smile!), then patted the leather couch. No probs!' he exclaimed, as the striker dropped his bag and jumped up onto the bench. What seems to be the matter, Mr. Hicks?' he quizzed.
Well, nothing exactly ...' the youngster explained. I'm just stressed about things, I suppose ...'
`You worried about your England debut?' Carl queried.
`A bit, I guess ...'
The physio told him to lie down, then slipped a pair of disposable gloves over his hands, pulling the rubber carefully over each long, probing finger. You look tense ...' he observed, eyeing the young man's body before him and clearly noting the mound of hardened flesh in his trackers. In fact, I'd say you're in good need of a long, hard massage ...'
Gareth gulped – his dry throat making it almost impossible for him to swallow. `Right ...' he muttered.
Okay, then – well I'll be off ...' Todd sighed reluctantly, making for the door. I'd love to stay and watch,' he continued (which was pretty much evident from his own bulge), `but I get the impression that Carl works better one-to-one ...'
He closed the door behind him – at which point the physio explained to his patient that he would probably be able to work better if the striker stripped down to his underwear. It was a suggestion that could hardly fail to excite Gareth yet further (if that was possible), and leaping from the couch, he pulled away his tee-shirt and trousers and cast them to one side.
The player was now laid out at Carl's dear mercy – his breathing rather stilted, but the aching lump in his jocks bearing testimony to the fact that there was nothing really wrong with him. Right,' the physio appeared to tease, are any of your muscles feeling particularly stiff at the moment ...?'
I sort of feel tense all over ...' Gareth replied rather quickly, glancing up into Carl's dark eyes and finding that his confidence appeared to return as a result. But most especially around my groin ...'
Carl smiled (fucking hell, what a smile!), then trailed his hand up Gareth's thigh. Yes,' he sighed, I can tell. Do you find that that particular area troubles you a lot?'
`All the time ...'
`I think most footballers are the same, Gareth. I reckon it's all that close bodily contact on the pitch and then also in the showers afterwards. What do you reckon?'
`Could be ...'
Carl drove his hand, palm down, across the young guy's growth – but never once made an effort to grasp what lay beneath. Instead, he began to massage Gareth's torso – reaching for some oil and then smearing it across the fellow's six-pack.
`You wouldn't believe how jealous my boyfriend gets when I tell him about all the players I get to see,' the trainer remarked, as he continued to stroke and press the smooth young skin before him – speaking in such a casual manner that the City striker was for once completely lost for a reply.
`He gets off on it really – you know, when I tell him about the size of their cocks and how big their balls are ...'
Gareth's shaft was almost bursting through his briefs at this point, as a patch of sticky wetness stained the material, but his pleasure was only destined to get all the more intense.
Not that he knows the real truth, mind,' Carl smiled. He thinks I make it all up when I tell him about how I get to see their hard, aching organs, and he certainly doesn't believe it when I tell him that I sometimes have to beat them off to help relieve all that tension and stiffness they seem to get ...'
`A hard job, eh?' Gareth joked.
The physio's fingers traced their way down to the very top of the striker's jock-strap, then brushed along the elasticated band. Yes,' he sighed. But I can't tell you how much I enjoy it ...'
Just at that moment, the soccer-star really did think that the hunk was about to slip his hand beneath the silky material, but then quite suddenly the fellow urged him to turn over onto his front, saying that he wished to massage his spine and calves. As he flipped over, however – which in itself was not the easiest of tasks, given that he had seven-and-a-half inches of unadulterated hardness buried within his pants – the physio suggested that he might find the treatment easier if he was to strip off altogether, handing him a rather skimpy towel as he did so.
Gareth was hardly about to refuse such an offer. For one thing, his manhood was more than a tad uncomfortable in its present confinement and the fact that his jocks were now sodden with pre-cum was simply adding to his unease. For another thing, he rather liked the idea of treating Carl to a full show of his throbbing man-rod. What embarrassment he had initially felt towards him had eased with the revelation that the lad was gay like himself, and given Todd's remarks, he felt sure that the physio's suggestiveness was shortly to be followed by action of a much more substantial kind.
`Nice cock!' Carl observed with a cheeky smile (which, once again, sent butterflies racing around in Gareth's belly).
`You like it, then?' the footballer grinned in return – though teasingly wrapping the towel around his waist as best he could (given that it was about three sizes too small!)
I like all cocks!' the older lad laughed. Though somehow soccer stars always seem to have the nicest ones ...
Funnily enough,' he continued, once Gareth was laid out on the couch once more, my boyfriend was looking at some pictures of you the other night ...'
The striker appeared to take exception to the comment and turned right over again to face the man. `What pictures?!' he demanded – his mind clearly working overtime at this precise moment.
`Hey, man – Todd was right. You are stressed out!'
`What pictures were they?' he demanded – thinking that Will Brandt was somehow involved (though to his knowledge the lad had never taken any photos of him).
`It was a web-site, that's all. You know, one for men who like footballers ...'
I see ...' Gareth sighed, perhaps sensing that he had made a fool of himself. Truth was, he was still totally paranoid about the world finding out about his liaison with the Dutchman and anything that suggested disclosure was enough to send him into fits of apprehension – even innocent photos on the internet.
Carl encouraged him to lie down again, gripping him by both shoulders and massaging his neck in an attempt to relax him. Come on, mate,' he soothed. I'll soon get all that tension out of you – believe me ...'
Indeed, there was no denying that the spunky physio proved true to his word. Having rubbed Gareth's neck and shoulders, he began to turn his attention to the fellow's back – pouring a trail of oil along his spine and then stroking the sweet-smelling liquid across his bronzed skin. This, of course, led inexorably down towards the footballer's butt, as Carl stripped away the towel and massaged the ointment into that fine, pert rump laid out before him.
That nice?' the physio quizzed – knowing full well that Gareth's cock was straining beneath him. Or is this better?' he continued, moving his latex grasp down towards the inside of the lad's thighs – just inches from his tight, hairy balls.
The soccer-ace groaned contentedly, opening his legs a little as if to encourage Carl still further. Yes,' he sighed, very ...' – though he doubted whether the physio's attention was actually relaxing him. Rather it seemed to be having much the opposite effect entirely, in particular with respect to his knob, which was pounding away like fury and oozing copious amounts of pre-cum over the leather couch below in the process.
Slowly, but surely, Carl's expert touch eased its way further and further up Gareth's beefy, muscular leg, until it was but a hair's breadth from his fuzzy sac – at which point the physio grinned like the Cheshire cat. I think ...' he noted thoughtfully, bending down to gaze on those churning balls, ... I think you have something of a swelling in your groin ...'
`You think so?' smiled the footballer, glancing behind him.
Yes ...' the fellow confirmed, finally cupping the cum-bag. In fact, it looks badly in need of attention ...'
Gareth could not help but laugh at the hackneyed nature of his comment, but Carl didn't appear to mind at all. That's as maybe,' he sighed, but something tells me you're not going to ask me to stop ...'
No, indeed, and when the physio then suggested that the lad might turn himself over so as he could `examine the swelling' in greater detail, the striker was only too eager to oblige.
By this point, of course, the blood was gushing through Gareth's shaft like crazy, engorging the organ to near-bursting point and making him little more than putty in Carl's gloved hands. As a result, he posed no resistance at all when the physio finally laid his manful grasp at the base of that aching member – instead sighing with apparent relief that the gorgeous hunk had at last ended his teasing and easing himself back down on the leather underneath him in the process.
Carl ran his clenched fist up the full length of the sportsman's love-rod, drawing the full extent of foreskin over the purple helmet and forcing a large pool of excitement into the swollen eye. I think I've located the source of all that stiffness,' he remarked suggestively, all that frustration ...
Mind,' he then continued, I'm told that you soccer players perform better on the pitch when you're feeling horny. Apparently, unburdening your creamy, sticky wads takes the edge off your skill ...'
Don't you worry,' Gareth assured, I'll be stiff again in no time – no time at all ...'
Good,' the older guy concluded – before leaping up on the bench and positioning himself between his patient's strapping thighs. Then you'll have no problem with me doing this –' he remarked, and with that he fell face-downwards onto the crimson length before him.
Carl's apparent reticence up until this point appeared to be almost instantly forgotten, as he sank the juicy meat deeper into his mouth with each and every thrust. At first only the head (which was covered in a tasty coating of pre-cum) slipped between his hungry lips, but it was a state of affairs that lasted only momentarily. For the physio proved himself an avaricious cock-sucker and he was quickly determined to force as much man-meat down his throat as possible. What was more, his short time at the club had already provided him plenty of opportunity to practice his art, with the likes of Todd Rankin, Matt Foster and Philippe Bourg having previously found his so-called massaging skills second-to-none. No fucking wonder that City's injury list was growing longer with every passing day!
He was lapping on that salami now with almost an unnerving menace, savouring every inch that Gareth Hicks could offer him – whilst fondling those hairy balls between his fingers, which of course were still sporting those rather sexy rubber gloves. Indeed, the texture of the disposable gloves on the footballer's most intimate parts was strangely erotic and the youngster could not resist levering himself up a fraction so that he might observe the sight for himself. It was a move that Carl could not fail to note, naturally, and realising that his patient was becoming highly charged at the display, he now clutched the gasping cock with both hands and began to rub the solid flesh with an almost devilish delight.
I've a feeling this will come to ease the tension you've been suffering from just lately,' the physio exclaimed, flashing his Latin looks. What do you say ...?'
Maybe,' gasped Gareth, though I'd prefer it if you could find a bit of rubber for my dick instead. That way you'll be able to massage my cock with your tight little butt-hole!'
`You'd like that?'
`Sure I would ...'
Carl jumped from the bench, ripped away the disposable gloves, grabbed a condom from one of his drawers and then pulled the item over Gareth's joy-stick. Moments later (and having also discarded his joggers to reveal a cute, seven inch uncut rod of his own) and he was back on the couch – lubing his shit-hole with a little grease, before straddling the star's body so as he could ease himself straight down on the heavenly member.
The ease with which the physio impaled himself was almost breathtaking – though given that he had been royally fucked by Donkey just the other day, it really should've come as little surprise. Carl's slit had quickly become one of the most experienced in the business and the way he skilfully rode Gareth's trouser-snake served as testimony to the fact. The bottom line was that he knew how to handle cock – how to make the most of every inch that any man had to offer and how to bring a fellow off by the agile use of ever inch of his own. As such, it was no great wonder that the soccer-star should soon be reaching the brink of a very fruitful orgasm – urging his rider to dismount so that he could fire his jizz high into the air. But Carl had no intention of letting Gareth get away quite so easily. He wanted the star to spurt deep inside him, so that he might feel the flush of spunk as it filled that protective rubber – and in the end it was he who got his way. Gareth's half-hearted struggle was nothing to the physio's determination, and before the lad knew it he was emptying his balls into the other guy's butt, moaning and gasping every thrust of the way, whilst Carl himself started to wank his own knob-head (now pulsing out ahead of him).
For the physio, of course, it was very much a case of applying his own massage techniques to himself at this point – running his naked, hard-clenched fist up and down the extent of his manhood. Not that he needed much encouragement. The bubble of Gareth's own climax had been enough to take him to the edge of his own sticky exclamation, and levering himself off the footballer's spent knob-end, he began to fire the first bolt in a rich, generous salvo. Cum erupted from his piss-hole like water spurting from Old Faithful – splattering across Gareth's glossy chest and reaching up to the young man's chin – whilst the deep look of satisfaction on his face seemed only to reflect the more-than-adequate display that he had produced from within his loins.
Well,' sighed Carl breathlessly at length, let's just hope that that's done the trick for you ...'
Gareth smiled, nodding his head as he did so. Yes,' he agreed. Though at least I know where you are if I have the same problem again ...'
`That's what I'm here for!' the physio laughed.
And yet for all the contentment with which they parted, the footballer could not help but sense that what he had just experienced had not quite made up for what he had recently sacrificed for the sake of his career ...
Spunk as much as he liked, Gareth Hicks simply couldn't get Will Brandt out of his head!